


winter wonderland

by textbookchoices



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookchoices/pseuds/textbookchoices
Summary: At least, Peter thinks, if he’s going to have an unattainable crush, the competition is so far out of his league that he doesn’t even have to feel depressed about losing. Not that he’d ever been in the running at all. The only thing worse than just having a crush on Mr. Stark at this point is the way his heart thumps at the sight of Ms. Potts in that dress, and the way her hair shines under all the Christmas lights, and the way she laughs, her freckles striking against the paleness of her skin.Peter hangs his head.He really does like making life hard for himself, doesn’t he?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	winter wonderland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts).



Peter steps out of the car, his jaw dropping at the sight in front of him.

Happy rolls his eyes and says, “Don’t just stand there, go inside before you freeze.”

He gets out of the car, thankful that Aunt May had convinced him to wear slacks and a nice blue button-up instead of jeans and a hoodie. He’d been nervous that he was going to show up overdressed and embarrass himself, but if anything, he thinks he’s underdressed after all.

The compound is decorated like some kind of a winter wonderland straight out of a fairy tale. There’s snow on the ground and sparkling icicles dripping from every window and every doorway. There are frosted boughs, garlands and wreaths everywhere Peter looks, and artful golden, white, and green Christmas trees decorated in every corner and open space, sparkling with white lights and red ornaments.

Mr. Stark even had a dozen caribou brought in for the occasion; they’re milling about the snow-covered front lawn, and Peter sees one of them trying to chew the huge, red sleigh left out there as a giant photo-op slash decoration. Peter can’t help but laugh, his face splitting open in a grin. Only Mr. Stark could be so ostentatious as to bring _real reindeer_ to a Christmas party.

Christmas music, instrumental and soft and classic, plays quietly in the background as Peter walks through the decorated and glowing hallways, finally reaching the main space where there’s already at least fifty people walking around, talking or dancing or staring, mesmerized by the decorations just like Peter. Everything is just so beautiful, and over the top, and absolutely amazing. He loves Mr. Stark so much sometimes that he isn’t even sure how to describe the feeling.

There’s an open bar, the glasses of champagne decorated with fake frost, and Peter takes one, smiling as he starts looking around for someone he knows. Wanda, Vision, T’Challa and Okoye are to the left. He thinks they might be arguing about the eggnog (Peter vaguely recalls Vision talking about an attempt to make it from scratch earlier in the week). He spots Steve, Bucky and Sam even further that way, standing in a circle and laughing with some older men wearing veterans hats and jackets. Natasha and Clint are arm wrestling on one of the red sofas, a crowd standing around them and cheering... or making bets.

There are more people milling about; Peter recognizes some of them as SHIELD agents or people who otherwise work at the compound or Stark Industries. There are even more people he doesn’t recognize at all, and Peter ducks past a few of them while he keeps looking for Mr. Stark (because of course who he's really looking for Mr. Stark).

It doesn’t take much longer to find him.

In the large archway between rooms, there’s a single sprig of what is obviously mistletoe hanging down to catch party guests unawares. Peter knows because Mr. Stark is standing beneath it, a hand tugging through Ms. Potts’ red-orange hair, his mouth sliding against hers. They’re both dressed up, Mr. Stark in a nice suit with red accents, and Ms. Potts in a white dress with soft white jewels sewn in snowflake patterns all along the skirt. They’re beautiful together.

Of course they are.

Peter stands there, watching them kiss, watching them laugh and smile as they break apart, Ms. Potts shoving at Mr. Stark with a roll of her eyes when he playfully acts like he’s going to drag her back under the mistletoe right after she moves away from it.

At least, Peter thinks, if he’s going to have an unattainable crush, the competition is so far out of his league that he doesn’t even have to feel depressed about losing. Not that he’d ever been in the running at all. The only thing worse than just having a crush on Mr. Stark at this point is the way his heart thumps at the sight of Ms. Potts in that dress, and the way her hair shines under all the Christmas lights, and the way she laughs, her freckles striking against the paleness of her skin.

Peter hangs his head.

He really does like making life hard for himself, doesn’t he?

***

The party is great.

It’s fun, really. He gets to arm wrestle with Bucky and Thor and Steve and he drinks too much champagne even though he can’t really get drunk unless Thor has spiked it with something decidedly not local. He dances with Natasha and Groot and Kate, who are all better dancers than he is (even Groot, who’s lit himself up like a Christmas tree to match the theme). The food being served is delicious, and he thinks he eats more of those little French cake things than even Thor manages. 

He only avoids Mr. Stark a little bit, and even that doesn’t work for long because when Mr. Stark is looking for you, there’s really no way to avoid him what with F.R.I.D.A.Y. telling on all your hiding spots. Mr. Stark eventually finds him and drags him around the room, introducing him to people with his arm thrown over Peter’s shoulders, talking up Peter’s degree at MIT and work as Spider-Man. It should be boring, but Peter can’t help but sink into the touch and hang on Mr. Stark’s every word, like always.

So the party _is_ great, really, except that Peter spends the entire night glancing back at that stupid mistletoe, remembering the way it looked when Mr. Stark was kissing Ms. Potts, their mouths and bodies pressed together, smiling and laughing and _happy_.

He sighs, only half paying attention to the people he’s talking with. Peter’s not entirely sure who they are—a group of interns from S.I. that he’d been introduced to earlier, since they’re going to somewhat-sort-of be his co-workers soon, now that he’s graduating MIT and coming back to New York to work at S.I. with Mr. Stark—and as much as he’s trying to focus, it’s hard with so much going on, and with his thoughts as scattered as they are.

He feels pretty betrayed by his own feet when he realizes that he’s somehow ended up underneath the archway with the spring of mistletoe that he’s been watching and avoiding in equal measure all night. So much for having a preternatural sense for danger. The other interns are all laughing and daring him to turn around, and he’s pretty well resigned to kissing whoever it is he got stuck under the mistletoe with on the cheek. Hopefully, it won’t be too embarrassing or awkward for the rest of the night if it’s somebody he has to see again.

He turns, and then freezes.

Ms. Potts is shaking her head, pointing one long finger away from Peter—it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s silently telling off Mr. Stark, fifteen feet away and laughing at the sight of his wife and Peter stuck under the mistletoe together.

“Alright,” Ms. Potts says, and she sounds more amused than anything, which is at least _something,_ turning back around to look Peter in the eye. “Shall we, Mr. Parker?”

_Mr. Parker._

Peter has no idea why that makes his pants feel tighter, his collar feel warmer. He stumbles over his words, over, “Right, uh, okay, we can—”

It’s supposed to be just a peck on the cheek. Peter completely, one hundred percent intends to just kiss her cheek, but somehow, he’s leaning in, and they’re really similar in height, although that might be because of Ms. Potts’ heels, and _wow,_ she has freckles absolutely everywhere, standing out vividly against the paleness of her skin and the bright color of her hair, and Peter kisses her on the mouth, one hand going to rest on the curve of her back, and all he can think is—

She tastes like coffee, and champagne, and her mouth is soft and she sighs into the kiss, her body relaxing against his.

He kisses her, moving his mouth on hers, their breath warm and their tongues wet and it’s like there’s nothing else in the room, just—just for a moment, just for that one kiss. He feels a hand in his hair, nails tugging through his curls softly, and then, like an electric shock to the fog of his brain, Ms. Potts yanks her whole body backward, taking an unsteady step and nearly falling over when her heel twists under her.

Peter catches her, startled, and then registers the giggling and the laughing and luckily, nobody seems to have noticed Peter’s slip, or—or _Ms. Potts’_. Because that had been more than just a kiss under the mistletoe, Peter thinks, his heart thumping painfully, and then he looks up and across the room, fifteen feet away, and Mr. Stark is looking at them, one eyebrow raised so high he’s obviously saying _What the hell was that?_ and Peter—

Peter’s heart, already going a mile a minute, **stops**. Like a leaden weight suddenly being dropped, Peter rips his hands away from Ms. Potts where he had still been touching her, holding her.

Oh, oh no. Oh _shit_.

Ms. Potts is saying something, and then she’s adjusting her dress, and she’s walking off towards someone, doing something, she’s important, people to talk to and things to do and Peter slips his way through the crowd until he finds a bathroom to sit in, bowing his head low between his knees, and just—breathe.

_What the fuck was he thinking?_

Mr. Stark was never going to forgive him. Ms. Potts must think he’s some sort of a—a—well, Peter doesn’t know what, but she must be angry, or uncomfortable, or—

_Why did she kiss him back?_

***

He spends twenty minutes in the bathroom until someone knocks impatiently and makes him leave.

The party winds down not long after, and Peter spends ten minutes looking for Happy before Sam, tipsy and hanging off of Bucky, says, “Peter, kid, heeeey, Happy left ages ago. You’re stuck here. I’d give you a lift, but you know. Flying wouldn’t be such a great idea right now. I had a _little_ to drink.” He's using his fingers to visually demonstrate how little he drank, and Bucky mutters something about drunken idiots before carrying him off, presumably to find a bed to dump him in.

Peter sighs and looks around. People have been leaving, and there’s a bit of a mess left behind them. Glasses and little plates and napkins are strewn on the tables, and there’s strings of silver lametta everywhere from earlier in the night when it had been getting thrown around like some kind of a party game.

Dutifully, he starts picking some of it up, and only belatedly, when Mr. Stark arrives next to him, touching his elbow, does Peter think about the fact that he should have taken the opportunity to escape instead.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Stark asks, frowning, then adds: “Don’t pick that crap up, I pay people for that. Trust me, they’ll cry if they don’t get to clean up at the rates I’m paying them.”

Peter can’t help rolling his eyes, and he smiles a little, the nervous guilt slipping away a bit. It doesn’t seem like Mr. Stark is upset after all. Maybe they can just put it behind them, pretend the whole mishap with the mistletoe and the kissing Mr. Stark’s wife thing never happened. And if Mr. Stark can pretend it didn’t happen, maybe Ms. Potts can pretend too, and maybe Peter won’t have ruined two of the greatest relationships in his life.

And then Mr. Stark grins, his eyes lit up, and gestures up and past Peter while he says, “Oh, hey, would you look at that? _Mistletoe.”_

Peter winces. Right, so, apparently they weren’t going to pretend it didn’t happen.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so—”

And then Peter actually registers what Mr. Stark had been gesturing at, and it’s not the mistletoe in the archway at all. It’s mistletoe, yes, but it's hovering a foot over their heads, held by a shining red-and-gold gauntlet in mid-air.

Peter is about to ask “What?” when Mr. Stark says, “My turn,” and suddenly Peter has Mr. Stark’s hand on his chin, and his face is being turned, and then there’s the soft feeling of Mr. Stark’s goatee against his cheek followed by the soft press of his lips on Peter’s.

Peter doesn’t have time to even wonder what’s going on, to question it, to ask if it’s payback or if it’s a joke or if it’s real, because he’s wanted to kiss Mr. Stark since he was a _teenager_ and he can’t help but instinctively step into the kiss, opening his mouth wide and letting Mr. Stark slide his tongue across Peter’s lip, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as Peter makes a high, embarrassing sound in his throat.

He pushes Mr. Stark against a wall, holding him by his hip with one hand and his wrist with the other, and he kisses him with everything he has.

Because he’ll never have another chance. Because it doesn’t even occur to him not to.

Because Mr. Stark kissed him, and Peter’s been hard practically all night, and Mr. Stark wants him to. Mr. Stark _wants him to kiss him_ , and is kissing him _back,_ grabbing at Peter’s hips, pulling him in harder and rocking up against Peter right there in the middle of the room, lining them up so that electricity races up Peter's spine.

There’s a cough from behind them, and Peter rips backward with a rough shaking breath.

Ms. Potts is standing there, tapping her nails on her hip.

Somehow, the room is otherwise entirely empty other than the three of them.

“Honey,” Mr. Stark says, voice deep and rough and the sound of it sends a shiver through Peter's core, “care to join us?”

Peter looks back at Mr. Stark quickly, stumbling back a step.

“I think the better question,” Ms. Potts says, and she sounds amused again, in that way she always gets around Mr. Stark, “is _Peter_ , are you interested in joining _us_?”

Frozen still, Peter says, “What?” in a soft, disbelieving tone.

“On a date, kid.” Mr. Stark is running a hand down Peter’s arm, which is distracting and unfair and—

“A date?” he asks, strangled.

“We were thinking Paris, maybe Tokyo, you know, start out with a nice bang, but after tonight I’m thinking maybe we start in the bedroom,” Mr. Stark says, and Ms. Potts interrupts by saying, “Tony, we agreed we’d wait for Peter to answer with a yes or no before you try to take him to bed.”

“I’m pretty sure making out with _you_ under the mistletoe was a yes, Pepper, and considering he just shoved me against the wall, are we really—”

“Yes,” Peter interrupts this time, because his brain is finally working again, and they’re asking him out, and he doesn’t know if it’s a one-night-stand sort of thing or an actually dating kind of thing—and he thinks they’re hinting at an actual dating thing, oh, _oh_ —but he isn’t about to say no either way.

Ms. Potts looks at him, a smile spreading across her face.

“Yes?”

Peter nods.

“Yes. Please. Uh.”

“Good,” Tony says, and he’s smiling too. Then he grabs Peter’s collar and pulls him in closer again, murmuring, “Oh look, the mistletoe moved. Better kiss me again.”

And, well, Peter’s not going to say no to that either, especially when Ms. Potts steps in and says, “I do believe it’s my turn, Mr. Stark,” and she kisses Tony, and somehow seamlessly slides into kissing Peter, and—

 _Merry Christmas,_ he thinks to himself, only a little dazed, and it really, really is the best Christmas ever.


End file.
